


A Kindness

by crowsmile



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Gender Related, It's a little sad, Short One Shot, Trans Male Character, i support webber supporting wilson, the best kid tbh, webber is a good kid, which happens in . this fic, which is why i wrote it, wilson is trans and thinkin about the past and whether or not he passes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 03:15:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14782610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowsmile/pseuds/crowsmile
Summary: Wilson ruminates over his past and present, and Webber chimes in with some assurance.





	A Kindness

That morning hung heavy in the dew-flecked atmosphere, a fog that rested sedately on the crests and folds of the wilderness. Mist snaked through the cracks between fallen boughs and crawled onto the mirror-like surface of the pond, another veil over its true depths, as if the world itself was coy over its own glorious enormity. Droplets coalesced on the wet branches hanging over the water, leftover moisture from recent rain, and they coursed slowly down the branches until they broke and struck the pond. The ripples sent the reflection of the rising sun scintillating, a promise of light haloing Wilson’s reflection as he stared down into the water. He was unsure why he was here– there was a certain yawning dormancy, a calmness to everything, just some aspect that drew him close to the pond. He’d taken off his shoes and socks, rolled up his trousers, and sat on the bank with his bare, aching feet just grazing the algae-coated bottom of the pond, feeling the curvature of the ground as it dipped away into an unprecedented deep. 

He knew well that he should be getting ready, heading off into the grasslands to hunt and gather, find some way to survive for another day. This morning, though, asked him calmly to stay, and thus he did. He was lost in an introspection, watching his own reflection absentmindedly, trying to figure out if he even recognized himself. So much had changed, especially since when he was younger. Though he could blame it on the algae, on the way the water bent the light, or that a small fish disturbed the depths and caused it to cloud with silt, he didn’t. This difference was welcome, perhaps. He never felt he’d look like this, and though he was half-starved and covered with more soil than freckles, something was good.  
He hardly noticed any form of approach until a gentle touch fell upon his shoulder– raising an eyebrow, he turned, to be met with the ever-startling face of Webber. The hybrid, despite being burdened with an arachnoid appearance that made Wilson’s stomach turn itself inside out– thankfully, that reaction was fading– looked ever-endearing. Their arthropod eyes, ones that should be blank, bore a look of concern.  
“Mr. Wilson... what’re you doing?” they asked, voice still young but carrying the weight of a hundred troubles in it. They blinked, pausing, and spoke before Wilson could reply. “You’re crying.”

Wilson hadn’t noticed– he hunched slightly, ashamed for a second, raising a muddy hand to wipe his eye.  
“Ah, my apologies– I must be scaring everyone back at camp, being gone so early–” he mumbled, not sure if he could collect his thoughts, but trying his hardest. Lines were drawn across his face by his dirt-covered knuckles as he attempted to hide this tears, steel himself to get up and head back and pretend that he wasn’t just lost in some reverie.  
“Crying is okay.” Webber’s response was so clearly stated that Wilson practically froze, not realizing that he’d begun to feel worse over his own tears until it was brought up. “Staying here is okay too. And, we can talk to you, if you need! We don’t like seeing people crying all alone.”  
Wilson shifted, wondering if he could possibly explain why he was crying. Would Webber, let alone anyone, understand? He’d never really met anyone who felt like he did. Then again, there was little harm in trying to talk. After all, Webber was but a child– surely, they wouldn’t have developed the same angers and hatreds that the rest of the world had?

Sniffing, Wilson raised his hand to his mouth, chewing his fingers a small bit in thought. Things were hard to phrase, even to himself. He was well aware that the second he started talking, he’d stumble over his words, his voice would break, and he’d retreat back into his protective shell of reclusiveness and cry alone again. He furrowed his dirt-streaked brow, leaning back and rocking slightly, testing his own mental capacity to speak without collapsing into a trembling wreck.  
“Oh– uh– I was j-just looking at my reflection, Webber. That’s all,” he stammered, hoping that he wasn’t looking too pathetic. At least this was only Webber. Not one of the others, one of the others who– who– he couldn't trust to understand. “I was just thinking that– that I look like a man, don’t I, Webber?” At the sentence, a weak smile formed on his mouth, as if the statement belonged to him. He looked like a man. Nervous about the answer, he pressed his fingers into the mud, wondering if everything he’d been through, years of suffering and rudimentary surgeries and isolation, had been enough.  
Webber hardly hesitated. “Mhm,” they responded, nodding as if to add additional confirmation. 

Wilson turned away slightly to hide his smile, still self-conscious about the way he was sobbing over this, and continued to speak through the distraction of chewing his fingernails.  
“I’m– I’m very glad,” he managed, running a hand through his hair and trying to salvage a mature, reserved persona. He cleared his throat, wiped his eyes, and gave Webber a confident smile that wavered and broke in seconds. Wilson hardly processed the fact that he practically collapsed in on himself, hunching over and breaking down completely. His voice strained, choking, and his tears struck the pond water like dew from the overhanging leaves. The forest cried with him– and so did Webber, whose bristly fur scraped against Wilson’s shirt and they pulled him into a confused, but reassuring, hug.

“I’m so, so v-very glad, I’m so– thank you, Webber,” Wilson stuttered, not even paying attention to the fact that Webber was part-spider anymore, so thoroughly overwhelmed by emotion as he was. “I-I’m sure you’re a bit confused about– about why I’m crying about this, s-still– I didn’t always look like a man and– it h-hurt. W-what you just said was... it was one of the best things I’ve ever heard.”  
Webber was silent for a long time, tightening the hug, the feeling of their tears soaking through Wilson’s shirt causing him to wrap his arms tighter around the child.  
“We understand...” they eventually spoke, looking up at Wilson with wide eyes, glittering with tears. “We know what it’s like to be different on the outside than on the inside.” They gave Wilson a warm smile, before burying their little spider head into his shirt and nearly knocking him over into the bullrushes. “We think you’re a very good man, too!”

A small laugh managed to escape from Wilson’s mouth, shy and choked by tears, but a laugh nevertheless. A weary but infinitely glad grin crossed his face, and he wiped his face a final time, casting a cursory glance back at his reflection. He really did it– he looked like a man. Webber said so, and the reflection was further proof. This difference was welcome. Everything had turned out alright.


End file.
